Because It'll Be Spring Soon
by BlackBandit111
Summary: A different POV on Frodo's thoughts and reactions in the house of healing. No slash.


**Hello, fanfictioners! In all honesty I should probably be updating other stories, but this little plot bunny lodged itself in my brain and it didn't go away until I wrote it, so I figured I'd post it. I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment!**

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Frodo lay, quite comfortably, in the feathery bed, the only sounds besides the rushing of water and the singing of birds his steady breathing; breaths he was more than grateful to be taking. He sighed, wishing to cling to the little remnants of the dream he had been enfolded in, but it slipped through his fingers and the more he tried to recall it the further it went, until he let out a frustrated grunt and gave up. He remembered a feeling of blissness, safety, and reassurance; he thought he saw...Bilbo? But he could not remember, and forgot his attempts.

He was lying under white covers and his head rested on some amazingly fluffy pillows piled high around his bed as a barricade, as if to prevent him from falling out; his arms rested on pillows, and Frodo felt a strange heaviness of his right hand.

He glanced down to see what it was, only to find a large bandage wrapped around his delicate and tiny wrist. And it was then his gaze strayed to his fingers, of which he found upon count that he only had nine and a half. It was here that all came back to him in a rush of memories; the fire, the ring, the lava, the fight with Gollum, the tossing of the creature, the grabbing of Sam's hand as he commanded his master not to let go and to reach. The loss of the burden that had troubled his mind and heart for so long, being free and gone of the responsibility. He remembered thinking he was going to die, and the feeling of Sam's hand in his...

His Sam. Where was his Sam? Dear, dear Sam, who wouldn't leave his side under any circumstance other than death-

But in this thought Frodo stopped. Death. Was he dead? Was his _Sam _dead? The throbbing pain that coursed through his own body answered him that no, he himself was not dead. You didn't feel any pain when you had passed. But his Sam...

"Sam?" Frodo tried to call and ended up coughing quite harshly. His throat was not used to speaking, and his thoughts strayed to how long he had been unconscious. He glanced about for a glass of water, finding cool, clean liquid shining within a silver cup on his nightstand, and he relished in the feeling of it quenching his thirst and just having nice, pristine water to drink- not blackened from Cirith Ungol or Mordor, and not the orc's terrible concoction. This being taken care of, Frodo attempted a timid call again. "Sam?" No answer. "Anyone?" No answer. Frodo began to panic; his best friend had not been out of his sight save a very few times these last long months, always there when he woke and always present when he fell asleep. But now he was not with him, and the thought made Frodo frightened; decided, he threw back the covers and slowly but surely sat up. Taking a deep breath, this exertion having exhausted him but determined still, he slowly placed both feet upon the marble and waited a moment. Hoping his legs were sturdy and strong enough to hold him, he put weight on them, but immediately sat back down, his eyes tearing. He had forgot about the toll the sharp rocks had taken upon the bottoms of his feet.

Taking another deep breath and preparing himself, he shut his eyes tight and leaned back over to stand up, when a voice called out. "Frodo!" Frodo's eyes snapped open as he saw a figure clad in expensive robing and long dark hair dart towards him to catch his fall; for he was falling, his knees giving way under him. The person caught him in time and cradled him in their arms as if he were a babe, and he looked up into the face to find Aragorn son of Arathorn looking down at him, beaming.

"Aragorn?" Frodo asked, his eyebrows scrunching.

"Yes Frodo, it is I," he answered. Then, sensing Frodo's confusion and noting his curious glances to his surroundings, he added, "you are in Minas Tirith recovering from your recent injuries of your quest."

Frodo relaxed against the broad chest with a sigh, knowing he was safe. His eyes flickered around the room, and he began to ask where in Minas Tirith he was; Aragorn responded before he could fully propose his query. "In the House of Healing," he filled in, "you gave us quite a scare, Frodo."

Frodo blushed and muttered an apology, truly sorry he had made everyone worry. He looked towards the doorway upon hearing the door creak, and his eyes widened in shock and watered in unbelieving joy. "G-Gandalf?"

Gandalf, clad in white instead of grey, smiled broadly and chuckled. "Indeed, Master Baggins, it is I."

"But- but you- Moria-" Frodo found he could not even stutter through his explanation. Aragorn placed him softly back into bed and tucked him back under the covers, Frodo grateful for the warmth.

"Yes," Gandalf said with a grimace, his upturned eyebrows furrowing slightly recalling the memory. "Yes, I fell, but fate has granted me a second chance to see you, little hobbit. I fought the Balrog hard on the way down, and in the end he perished, and I somehow walked free and more powerful."

Gandalf paused and was not surprised he had Frodo's full attention, the large blue eyes focused and intense. "This is when I saw Treebeard, and the two most foolish hobbits in the Shire- Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took."

"Pippin and Merry are here?!" Frodo suddenly exclaimed and made to get out of bed again; Aragorn gently prevented him by a hand on his shoulder.

"You are still very weak and have a long recovery ahead, Frodo. I am afraid you must rest, staying in bed until the healers deem you fit enough to walk, which is certainly not now," Aragorn explained. Frodo's face crumpled in disappointment, the blue eyes dimming from excitement to sulkiness. It was incredibly hard for Aragorn not to defy the healers command and grant Frodo his wish with this look, however he bit his tongue and stared at his friend in sympathy.

Before Gandalf could resume his tale, however, Frodo interrupted. "Where's Sam?" he demanded. Aragorn and Gandalf glanced at each other for a split second. Frodo crossed his arms and repeated more forcefully, his blue eyes glinting with seriousness, "where is Sam?"

"He is still healing-" Aragorn began.

"I want to see him!" Frodo demanded.

"I don't think-"

"NO!" Frodo said sternly, his cheeks flushing. "I want to see Sam!"

"Tithen Min," Aragorn soothed the upset hobbit, "Sam is fine, I assure you. He is resting. You both have endured much. To my understanding, Sam has been sneaking out of his room to check on you himself, though he can barely walk with soreness and injury."

_Dear Sam_...

"Can I visit him?" Frodo inquired, trying a softer and more polite approach.

Aragorn chuckled. "You are still very, very weak, Frodo. Even us carrying you would sap your strength greatly."

"But..."

"I can see the stubbornness of hobbits is always present, even in the most malnourished of beings," Aragorn returned with a smile. Frodo blushed and smiled bashfully, and Gandalf chuckled in agreement. Though after a moment, the halfling's brow furrowed again and he folded his arms in defiance.

"I am going to Sam's room, Aragorn, with or without your help. I will search this whole palace should I find the need, and no one shall stop me. If I have gone unnoticed in the land of Mordor, I am confident I can go unnoticed in a large fortress with plenty of small, hobbit sized hiding places, or big crowds to get easily lost in."

Sighing, Aragorn realized that he would not get the hobbit to rest until he had seen his friend, though he was still far too weak and would not stay awake even for the short walk from one room to the other. Coming up with, what he thought, was a brilliant plan, Aragorn turned back to the halfling and said, "alright, Frodo, you win." A triumphant grin crossed the elvish features. "However." The smile faded from Frodo's face and Aragorn wished it back. "However, you will need to eat first and rest a little afterwards, then I shall grant you access to your gardener." There it was again, wide and beaming at him, the wonderful blue eyes twinkling with joy at the thought of seeing Sam. Aragorn was contented to see it returned to the young face, although he knew Frodo was no child.

The hobbit looked terrible; his hair lay in tangles (thought still forever curly) though it was clean and shining with health from the bath they had previously given him. He had had whip slashes on his back and sides and countless scars across his chest. A nasty bite lay on the thin neck and Frodo was nothing but skin and bones. His feet were torn and ragged, shredded in places, and his hands fared almost no better, rough, worn, and cut up. His face had a huge welt on one cheek bone and splashes of pink, healing wounds and cuts were all over. There was an angry red chain around his neck which reminded all who looked upon it of the burden the little being had carried and been strong enough to be rid of. It filled Aragorn with wonder, admiration and above all, respect.

Although, an afterthought occurred to him then. Frodo had been living off of nothing but Elvish bread and dirty water for the last many long months, and Aragorn hadn't a clue what Frodo had eaten prior to the quest. Aragorn knew to get Frodo's stomach back and used to normal foods, he would have to eat something familiar. "Tithen Min," Aragorn said in the same calm, gentle tone, "in order for you to become re-used to regular foods, you must eat something familiar to you that your body will recognize and accept without fight. It must be something light and nutritious, god knows you need it; you must be able to stomach it and keep it down, and it must be fairly easy to digest."

Frodo pondered this new problem in silence, his brow furrowing and lips growing taut. Aragorn and Gandalf watched him think in amusement, making no noise for fear of breaking the clearly extreme train of thought. Frodo brainstormed for as long as he could, but found he could not think for Sam's words kept floating back to him, and one food came to mind.

"Do you remember The Shire, Mr. Frodo? It'll be spring soon...and the orchards will be in blossom...and the birds'll be nestling in the Hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields...and even the first of the strawberries with cream...do you remember the taste of strawberries?" His voice had been sad and weak, broken and cracked from lack of water and dry air. Exhaustion was written in his face and tears fell from his eyes to Frodo's face; for he could feel them, cool and salty, on his cheeks and lips.

Strawberries. He still did not recall the taste of them. Strawberries was the only food that came to mind when he thought of all the characteristics required. So, his eyebrows returning to normal and face relaxing, he calmly faced Aragorn and Gandalf, who thought they knew what the answer would be.

"The only thing I can think of at the moment," Frodo said slowly, thoughtfully, "is strawberries." He smiled slightly at the shocked faces of his companions.

"A hobbit who desires strawberries over mushrooms?" Gandalf exclaimed,"preposterous! If I may ask how? Why?"

Aragorn looked just as curious, and Frodo merely smiled softly again, saying with a solemn air about him, "Because it will be spring soon."

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**Well, that's that. Please leave a comment and tell me what you thought, if I portrayed them well.**

**In all honestly this was supposed to be a oneshot, however should someone wish me to continue and inform me so, I will probably do so. :)**


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